


Late Nights

by dyrimthespeaker



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: College, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyrimthespeaker/pseuds/dyrimthespeaker
Summary: College is a time of new experiences and broadening horizons. For Luke, it gives a push down a path he’s already started.





	Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I’m just slowly chipping away at writing everything Luke was up to in the past that wasn’t shown. This time: college edition! Luke is gay, which, he is in all of my fics, but it only gets a passing mention here. Shoutout to useless gay artists everywhere!
> 
> Also say hello to my new OC created specifically for this fic. I don’t think she’ll feature in much more than this, but she sure is here!
> 
> Thanks to Shreya for listening, supporting, and giving things a look over to ensure I don’t have any glaring fuckups!

The music’s loud, but the bass isn’t pumping like at other parties where it’s a heavy thudding presence that he can feel vibrating through his body, advertising that _here, the party’s here_. The stereo’s cranked up, but he can still hear himself think. The smoke is thick and bodies are packed together. It’d be claustrophobic to some, but he doesn’t mind it. He slides past a couple making out against the wall to get into a side room and grabs himself a beer.

But this isn’t exactly a typical college party. It is in that they’re all young, the music’s loud, people are drinking and smoking and talking and kissing. But there’s more than just beer and weed being passed around. The crowd he’s found himself in with goes harder than that.

“You wanna drop some acid?”

It’s being offered by a guy with curly hair and a cheerful grin sitting between two girls. They all look excited, eager at the prospect. He suspects they’re trying to go for a hippie peace and love threesome experience, all broadening minds and free love.

He shakes his head.

He hates acid.

After the first time he tried it he swore never again, but got convinced that one bad trip shouldn’t be enough to close him off to the possibilities. The euphoric state of mind expansion it offered. The incredible things it would make you see and feel. How could he pass up an opportunity like that? Close himself to the horizons he already lived within?

The second trip was even worse than the first.

It left him curled up in a corner sobbing, convinced it was never going to end. He’d felt dread and fear and sadness so overwhelming it was like he was choking on it. Figures crouched in corners, scrabbling around on the ground, reaching long stretched fingers out at him. Spectral presences looming all around him and instead of the drug dampening them, it only heightened it. Added new grotesque elements. Worse than the things he already saw sober. The man in the bowler hat stretched out above him. And at the height of it all he could’ve sworn he heard his mother’s voice calling him home.

He was never dropping acid again.

“Nah, he prefers smack,” a voice pipes up from behind him, followed by an arm snaking around his waist. She’s just tall enough to set her chin on his shoulder if she stands on her tiptoes and he feels her do that.

“Hey, Luce.”

“Hey, Luke.” She giggles a little. Maybe at their greetings, she’s always found their names funny paired. Lucy and Luke. Maybe because she’s already high. Maybe both.

He’s relaxed in her hold. She’s a good friend, one of his closest. She knows him well, knows he hates acid, knows he prefers smack even though he’s only done it a couple times. It’s at the more hardcore end of things, not something people they know tend to casually keep around, and it’s a rough kind of high that isn’t for everyone. The side effects can be brutal, the vomiting is especially off putting to most, but the sweet sense of relief it brings is unparalleled in his experience. Not even the frantic highs of coke can match the euphoric numb of dope. He’s only just dipped his toes in, but he’s certain heroin beats out everything else. It quiets down the… _things_ … he sees better than anything else ever has.

Lucy’s not big on it though. She’ll do oxy sometimes, that’s how he first tried it in fact, but she likes uppers better. And she prefers stuff she can swallow, snort, or smoke. Needles freak her out, she can’t stand using them. And sure, you can snort smack, but that’s not as good as injecting it. But she keeps a box of hypodermic needles in her room and told him very seriously that if he was getting into dope he had to be careful and not fuck around with dirty needles. To come to her if he needed one rather than risk it. He’s touched she cares so much. That she warns him about how to stay safe, keeps things around to help.

“C’mon baby boy, roll with me?”

X, he likes. It’s not his go to, but he enjoys rolling. It’s a warm type of high. Usually cut with coke so there’s a bit of that high energy edge to it, but mostly it’s just pure warm pleasure. Doesn’t do much to numb him, but it’s nice to just feel good sometimes. There’s a reason it’s called ecstasy.

“I got enough for both of us,” she sing songs into his ear.

She moves her arm from his waist and drapes it over his other shoulder, dangling a little baggie between her fingers, shaking it in front of his face.

“Yeah,” he says and turns around in her hold.

She’s grinning up at him and opens the baggie, dumping out the pills which they both take, then she takes his hand, leading him deeper into the house. He follows along, threading their fingers together so she can drag him wherever she likes. They end up in the kitchen, their hands still linked. He sips on his beer while she talks to some people, but he mostly tunes it out. He pays attention again when he feels her tugging at his hand.

“I’m gonna do a few lines.” She gestures to a table where a couple people are measuring out blow and he nods. Lets go of her hand so she can join them. When she comes back to him she’s grinning even wider.

“You feelin’ good?”

He nods, he feels warm and happy. She grabs his hand again, pulling him to follow her upstairs. He goes without protest. The house is hers. Her and her roommates. And various other people who seem to drift in and out as they please. There’s always someone crashing on the couch. He follows along to her bedroom and she’s talking about something, but he just lets the words drift over him. He’s sure if it’s important she’ll tell him again later.

She lets go of his hand when they walk in and he drifts over to her bed, patting his pockets absentmindedly as he searches for his lighter. A cigarette sounds good right now. She’s over by the dresser, still talking as he searches.

He finally locates it and lights up, taking a long drag and letting his eyes fall closed for a moment, just enjoying the sensation.

“You’re the least convincing straight man I’ve ever met.”

That’s enough to break his concentration and focus his attention back on Lucy. He frowns at her, unsure why she’s said that. Takes a sip of his beer and hopes she explains.

“I’ve got my tits out and you haven’t even noticed,” she continues.

He does a double take. Sure enough she’s standing there topless. “I… I’m fucked up, I’m not noticing anything.”

“No one’s too high to notice my titties. They’re gorgeous!”

She holds them up and bends her head down to give them each of them a kiss. He watches, staring at her breasts more intensely than he can recall ever doing in his life. They are gorgeous, he supposes, like the _Venus de Milo_ or _Olympia_. They arouse no interest in him, but he thinks he can appreciate their beauty. The soft lines of their curves, like art. Female nude in relief. No. No, not relief. That’s not the right term. He frowns, still staring.

She catches sight of the look on his face and bursts out laughing. “ _Relax_ , there’s not gonna be a quiz on my nipples later.”

He blushes and looks down. Now it’s awkward, he’d been staring too intensely. He’s not sure what the proper way to handle this situation is so he sticks the cigarette back in his mouth. At least that way he has an excuse for being quiet. When he looks back up she has a new shirt on.

“This look okay? I can’t believe Travis spilled his drink all the way down my back.”

Oh, so that’s why they came upstairs. He nods. He’s relieved they’re both fully clothed again, he thinks he can handle situations better if they both have all their clothes on.

“Shit, baby, you are zoned the fuck out, huh?”

He nods again. He feels loose and foggy, but good. He took a xanax before he arrived and it’s combined with the beer and the x to heighten his roll. He tries not to go too hard mixing bars and booze. It’s good at numbing, which he likes, but he’s gotten completely blackout fucked up doing it before and tries to keep it from going that far.

The first time he didn’t realize how hard it would hit him and ended up sleeping for twenty hours straight and waking up with no recollection of what had happened. It was good to numb everything, but he didn’t like that state of complete and utter blackout. He was looking for relief, not missing days.

But xanax was in easy supply, he had his own scrip for it. _Generalized anxiety disorder._ He’d been officially diagnosed after Aunt Janet took him to a psychiatrist after one too many panic attacks. He’s supposed to take them as needed, for the panic attacks. And he does. But he doesn’t just need them for those. They combine real nice with other stuff, as long as he doesn’t overdo it.

Bars and beer or some liquor leaves him sleepy and floating, unable to drum up any anxious feelings. Or, it at least keeps them muffled, like they’re in some far off locked room in his head. A bar and some x just heightened the roll. A bar, some beer and x? That’s just comfortably warmly happy and numb.

He needs to lie down.

He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray on Lucy’s nightstand and sets his beer down next to it. Then he lies back and fuck, sinking into her bed is the best feeling. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get up again. Why would he? It’s so soft and inviting.

Now that he’s lying down he can really feel how heavy his body is. There’s no reason to get up. The more twitchy energy from the x has been quieted down by the bar he took. Usually when he rolls he ends up trying to find someone to hook up with, but tonight he thinks he just wants to lie down and _feel_.

He runs a hand down the sheets beside him. They’re soft and smooth and suddenly he wishes he was naked so he could really feel them, but then he remembers this is Lucy’s bed and he really wants them both to keep all their clothes on.

Lucy climbs up into bed with him, a cigarette in her mouth.

“We gonna kick it here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

She nods. “Fine by me, I don’t wanna deal with everyone without you.”

He looks up at her in question.

She shrugs and passes him the cigarette. “Jonathan’s here and he gets gropey when he does blow. But he backs off when you’re around.”

Luke’s trying to process that. That Lucy’s uncomfortable, that needs to be dealt with. That somehow _he_ makes Jonathan back off? Bizarre, Luke’s never intimidated anyone in his life.

“He’s… scared of me?”

Lucy giggles. “Maybe it’s your long arms, he thinks you can reach around and smack him without even having to move.” She laughs harder at his expression as he considers this. “Nah babe, he’s not scared. I think he thinks we’re a thing so he backs off outta _respect_ or whatever. Like, the man can’t respect me on my own, but your tall ass shows up and he’s all ‘oh personal space and boundaries!’”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and takes the cigarette back from him. “Don’t worry about it. If he actually upsets me I’ll crush his balls. It’s just annoying, that’s all.”

Luke nods, but tries to make a mental note to keep an eye on Jonathan more. Lucy can handle herself for sure, but that doesn’t mean she should have to. Luke’s a coward, but he’s not going to let shit like that slide. That’s something he’ll gather what little courage he has to stand against. He hopes he remembers this come morning, wishes he had somewhere to write it down, but his limbs are heavy and he didn’t bring any of his notebooks with him.

He spots a sharpie on the dresser and slowly reaches for it. Writes himself a note on his palm, then sets the marker back down. Time feels odd, he thinks he either set it down very fast or painfully slow and he can’t tell which it is. Lucy reaches across him to put her cigarette butt in the ashtray and grabs his beer. She finishes it off and crushes the can, tossing it across the room. He hears the hollow _tink_ it makes as it bounces off something, but doesn’t see if she made the shot or not.

She settles down beside him and suddenly all he can think about is being young and curling up with Nellie in her bed. That’s who he wants, Nellie. He likes Lucy a lot, likes spending time with her, but she’s not Nellie. He feels like he’s six years old and desperate for the love and understanding he can only find in his twin. She, his sister, his constant in a world gone all wrong.

But it’s late and he’s high and there’s no way he’s going to make is across campus to her dorm. Even if he did, it’s the middle of the night and he doesn’t want to wake her. Not for this.

He’s done it before. Busted in, knocking her door down in the middle of the night. Early on with the drugs, high out of his mind and overwhelmed with the need to see her. To reassure himself she was there and he was safe. But he tries his best not to do that. It was only a couple times, but even those were a couple too many. She doesn’t need to be burdened with his shit, she has plenty of her own.

And she struggles. God does she struggle. He wishes he wasn’t so useless and could do more for her than just listen and hold her when she cries, but that’s all he has. They’re both drowning and they cling to each other like life preservers. And sure, it keeps them both afloat. But they’re both in the water which means neither of them can be the one to drag them out. All they can do is tread water together.

She keeps her shit together better than him though. He admires her strength. Her ability to persevere and keep trying. She’s brave and she’s strong and she’s brilliant. Even when she’s breaking down, she still commands the world on her own terms. She’s a light, a beacon, but also a storm. She’s the hurricane that shapes the coast and the lighthouse that keeps him from crashing on the rocks.

She’s everything.

He’s not aware of falling asleep and he wakes up late, there’s no alarm. But it doesn’t matter, he’s not going to class today anyway. But he also doesn’t want to be in his own dorm. He manages to slip out of Lucy’s bed without waking her and stumbles down to the kitchen. There’s a few people hanging around, but they’re all nursing their own hangovers and don’t pay him any mind.

He finds some tomato juice in the fridge and mixes it with beer. It’s pretty gross, but Lucy swears by it. He chugs it down, good at suppressing his gag reflex, and hopes it starts helping soon. This isn’t the worst condition he’s woken up in, not by far, but it’s still not pleasant.

Once he’s out on the porch he goes to light a cigarette and notices something on his palm. _WATCH_ is written in all caps in sharpie across it, a little smudged, but clearly legible. He tries to remember what might’ve prompted that and recalls something vague about Jonathan being creepy. He’ll ask Lucy later.

After he’s lit his cigarette he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and his fingers brush against a small object, feels like a pill. He pulls it out to inspect it and finds half a bar. Considers a moment, then pops it in his mouth and dry swallows. That’ll hit nice while the beer and tomato juice mix settles in his stomach.

He makes his way to Nellie’s dorm, she doesn’t have class at this time so she should be there. The xanax is just kicking as he arrives and he hopes she’s there. He needs somewhere to lie down. He nods to a girl who also lives in the building, she recognizes him as someone Nellie has over frequently and lets him in with her. He makes his way up the stairs until he reaches her hall and knocks on the door.

She’s in sweatpants and an oversized sweater and she smiles when she sees him. Ushers him in.

She’s got notes and books spread out on her desk, she’s obviously in the middle of studying. There’s a soft blanket in her chair and a mug on the desk. He gets his shoes off and collapses on her bed. It’s nice. Not as nice as her bed at Aunt Janet’s, it is a shitty dorm bed. But it’s nice. Smells like her shampoo, smells like home. He shuffles a little to get comfortable and looks over to where Nellie’s taken a seat at her desk again. She has the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her feet tucked up under herself.

“Good night?”

“Yeah.”

And here they are again. She’s scared to press too hard and he’s telling white lies about late nights.

He wonders how much she knows. The twin thing is ever present, though it has its limits, but he suspects she knows more than she says. That what she knows is the reason she won’t press too hard. Back when he’d first started really using regularly he wondered if she’d get high too just because he was, but she’d never said anything so he figured if she felt it it was just an echo of his high. Just enough for her to know he was doing something, but not impair her.

He’s not good at keeping secrets, especially not from her. But this is something he knows he can’t tell her everything about. He’s scared. Scared of what he’s doing. Scared she might try to stop him. Being stopped would be the worst. And if she told one of their siblings? Or Aunt Janet? They’d try to stop him for sure. He can’t have that. He needs something, something like the drugs. They help. Not much helps, but they do. He can’t live without that.

“You want to help me study?” Nellie’s holding up a stack of index cards.

“Sure, need some coffee first though.”

“Okay.” She pours him a mug from her little coffee maker. He’s pretty sure it’s technically against the dorm rules to have one in your room, but he’s definitely not complaining. He takes it from her gratefully, along with the stack of flashcards.

She refills her mug as well and they both settle in.

He clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated posh accent, “What, Miss Crain, is the—“

“Shut up!” She’s giggling. “I can’t concentrate if you do that.”

“No?” He keeps the voice going, “My word, Miss Crain, if I had known—“

“Just quiz me!”

“Alright,” he relents and goes through each card until she’s satisfied with her grasp of the subject.

He finishes his coffee and lies back down, ready to just rest and relax. Though if she needs more help he’ll be happy to give it.

Nellie’s focused on her notes again, writing lists and reading things over. She’s hard at work and he starts to look around for a pen and paper, he wants to rest, but not to sleep. Wants something to do to to occupy himself, but something that doesn’t require much effort. He looks up to see Nellie holding out a notebook and pen, still looking down at her own notes, she knows what he needs. He takes them and settles back on her bed again, this time doodling and writing whatever bits of phrases come to mind.

He’s almost done with an actually halfway decent sketch, when she speaks.

“You should sign up for an art class.”

“Hm?”

“Next semester. Even if you don’t major in it, you should take art classes.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t know how to tell her he’s already failing out of the classes he’s in so he’s not sure how he’s going to manage classes _next_ semester.

“You’re good at it.” She’s so earnest.

He laughs softly. Hates that it comes out so bitter and twisted, but that’s what he’s feeling. Hates that she has to hear that when all she’s doing is trying to help. Hates that he can’t keep his shit together or even spare her the knowledge that he’s struggling. Hates that she puts it on herself, that she tries so hard for him when she’s suffering too.

And the guilt. Over all of that, but even worse is knowing that she’s trying to get him to succeed in a place that she shouldn't even be. The guilt that she’s only here for him. He knows it and he hates it.

His grades had been worse than hers and come time to apply for college she’d gotten into better schools than him. But she’d looked where _he_ got in and decided she was going to the best school he got into. To be with him. His fuckups held her back. Stopped her from going somewhere else and achieving more. Already he’s been a roadblock in her life.

She didn’t see it that way, he knows this. And he is grateful to have her here with him, beyond grateful. He’s positive he would’ve dropped out already if it wasn’t for her. But dropping out was looking more and more inevitable anyway so now he’s double fucked her over. Forced her to forego her own better opportunities to join him, and now flunking out so she’ll be alone in a place she never should’ve been anyway.

And she doesn’t know it. And all she wants to do is encourage him to pursue art.

He still hasn’t declared his major. He probably won’t get around to it before he either drops out or is kicked out. He doesn’t tell her that.

He just nods, smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

She smiles back, bright and encouraging.

He can’t bear to risk upsetting her, even if he knows he’s only delaying the inevitable.


End file.
